


common tongue

by leetheshark



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Autofellatio, Kink Meme, M/M, Pining, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark
Summary: For the Kink Meme prompt:Crowley, (solo or with appreciative audience), autofellatio.Having once been a serpent lent Crowley a few advantages. One of them was that he could do really weird things with his tongue.* He could also do really weird things with his spine. Overall, those advantages made Crowley wildly good at pleasing himself.(Crowley accidentally summons Aziraphale during an unfortunate—or fortunate?—moment.)





	common tongue

**Author's Note:**

> title from [moment's silence (common tongue) - hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7HcBvm0O-UU). quotes straight from the book are starred (*).

It was about twelve years before the end of the world, but Crowley didn’t know that yet.

As it was, he was bored.

He had just woken up from a nap, and as a demon, he didn’t have to deal with any of the things humans dealt with upon waking from a nap. He didn’t feel groggy, or have a bad taste in his mouth. Crowley felt fresh and awake as ever. The only problem was that there was nothing to do.

He could gave gone outside to superglue coins to the sidewalk, but even with his serpentine affinity for basking in the sun, it was too ~~damned~~ blessed hot. He thought about going to find Aziraphale, but decided against it, because he had been trying lately to give the hesitant angel more space.

Crowley twisted himself around in his sheets, sighing at the small pleasure of expensive satin1 on his bare skin. Crowley slept nude because it was comfortable, and because there was no reason not to. In the event of an emergency, Crowley could either miracle himself some clothes, or, more likely, miracle away the emergency so that he could go back to sleep.

1Crowley’s sheets would have been expensive, at least, if he had actually paid for them, much like his Balenciaga jacket and his equally (hypothetically) pricey sunglasses.

He sat up in bed, cracking his neck in a way that tended to frighten humans when he did it in public. His red-brown hair caressed his shoulders in loose waves, and it might have been beautiful if anyone were there to see it.

No one was there, but that was fine. Crowley could pass the time well enough on his own. Searching for a hint of excitement, Crowley ran his hands over the soft skin of his thighs.

Crowley liked skin. It wasn’t as if he made a habit of touching other people’s skin, but the occasional brush of Aziraphale’s hands against his own was enough to make Crowley forget how to think, and letting his hands roam over his own skin was enough to get him _really_ going.

Crowley thought about Aziraphale, sometimes.

Well, he thought about Aziraphale a lot more than some of the time, but he only sometimes thought about Aziraphale like this. It was easy to imagine Aziraphale’s hands on him, caressing his thighs and parting his legs, even as unlikely as it was.

Angels were sexless unless they made an effort.* This meant that, while all occult (or ethereal) beings were given human anatomy whether they liked it or not, whether they were capable of doing anything with it was entirely up to them.

Crowley had answered that question with a resounding _yes, please,_ and so, as he ran his hands over his body, massaging his thighs and grazing his nipples, it wasn’t long before he acquired, as he’d wanted, something to do.

Crowley ducked his head to taste pre-come on his tongue, and the soft waves of his hair pooled against his thighs. Having once been a serpent lent Crowley a few advantages. One of them was that he could do really weird things with his tongue.* He could also do really weird things with his spine. Overall, those advantages made Crowley wildly good at pleasing himself.

Crowley tongued at his own cock, and tangled his fingers desperately in his bedsheets, and moaned his pleasure without restraint into his empty flat. The flat was big enough and the walls thick enough that he didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing—and even if the architecture hadn’t worked to his advantage, he would have used a small demonic miracle to keep his neighbors2 from hearing anyway.

2Crowley imagined he had neighbors. He had never spoken to them, or even seen them, but surely people who lived in flats had neighbors.

As Crowley began to really and truly fuck his mouth, images of Aziraphale flashed through his mind. Nothing explicit—the small things were enough. The always fleeting but always intoxicating touch of Aziraphale’s hands. His expression of pure pleasure when he ate his dessert (or helped himself to Crowley’s). The few times he had almost kissed Crowley, breath hot on Crowley’s lips, before apparently regaining his senses.

Crowley completed those thoughts in his head, and imagined how Aziraphale’s mouth would feel against his, and nearly came. He moaned Aziraphale’s name, or tried to, as his mouth was full.

Just then, Crowley felt a presence pop into his room. “Crowley!”

He rolled his eyes upward to see Aziraphale, standing in the middle of his bedroom, looking ruffled and horribly frightened. _Oh fuck,_ Crowley thought. _Fuck fuck fuck._ He scrambled upright, materialized a pillow, and stuffed it into his lap. “Aziraphale! What the heaven are you doing here?”

Aziraphale’s brow knitted in confusion and he cried out, “You summoned me!”

“What? No I didn’t!”

Aziraphale pleaded, “You did!”

It was then that Crowley realized he very probably, accidentally, did. He flopped backward onto the bed with a full-bodied sigh, covered his face with his hands, and thought about miracling himself somewhere else. His pillow stayed right where it was supposed to. “It was an accident.”

When Crowley peeked through his fingers, Aziraphale had a look on his face that, in six-thousand years, Crowley had never seen before. “I’m going to go,” he said.

“Good idea,” Crowley groaned.

Part of him wanted Aziraphale to stay. Part of him, and Crowley knew exactly which part that was, was so turned on Crowley could barely think and wanted nothing more than for Aziraphale to stay with him, to touch him, to be with him.

Crowley said, somewhere in the back of his mind, _You don’t have to._

Aziraphale said, after a second of not leaving, “You want me to stay.”

Crowley squinted in confusion. As a demon, he could project his thoughts and feelings to others, but since when could he do it to angels? He wouldn’t have been all that surprised if he had a psychic link to this particular angel, but that was an issue for another time. And since when could he do it _by accident?_

Under Aziraphale’s gaze, a look that Crowley knew meant either _You’ve done something bad and I don’t like it_ or _You’ve done something good and I shouldn’t like it,_ Crowley figured there was no point in lying.

Aziraphale wasn’t cruel. Not on purpose, anyway. He wouldn’t have brought it up just to mock Crowley or reject him. Crowley hoped so, at least.

“Only if you want to,” Crowley said, and regretted it.

There was pain on Aziraphale’s face, and Crowley felt like the most abhorrent being in existence, subjecting Aziraphale to something like this. He felt like the most abhorrent being in existence for even thinking about Aziraphale like that in the first place and causing this whole mess. “I’m sorry—”

“I want to,” Aziraphale said, like it was a confession.

 _Oh,_ Crowley thought. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I…” Aziraphale cast his eyes to the floor. “I want to watch you. Can I watch?”

It was the first time in his six-thousand years of inhabiting a body that Crowley felt breathless. “Yeah,” he said, almost worried that if he didn’t speak softly enough he would scare Aziraphale away. “Yeah, you can watch. D’you want to sit on the bed?”

Crowley watched Aziraphale think about it, and by the pained expression on Aziraphale’s face, decided to materialize a chair beside the bed instead.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. “It’s just...”

“I know.” Crowley knew well enough that Aziraphale wanted him, even loved him, and even though they had come far enough to have dinner together every once in a while, they still barely touched. Sitting on the bed with Crowley would have been too much, too fast.

It was fine that Aziraphale wanted to watch and not touch. It drove Crowley a little mad, the promise that this was about to happen, and he wouldn’t have offered it in another six-thousand years, but it was good. Aziraphale sat gingerly in the chair, his eyes glued to Crowley.

Crowley removed the pillow from his lap and showed Aziraphale his half-hard cock. Aziraphale looked, and then met Crowley’s eyes again, and Crowley’s hand inched across his thigh, trying to summon the courage to do something entirely new.

It was nerve-wracking, with Aziraphale watching him. It wasn’t self-consciousness—Crowley knew that he was good-looking, but he also knew that it didn’t matter what he looked like, because Aziraphale’s hungry eyes would surely look at him the same way.

He was afraid to go too fast. Too much, too lewd, too fast. But it was Aziraphale who had asked him, so Crowley decided, _damn it,_ or _bless it,_ or _something,_ and took his erection in hand.

Crowley stroked himself back to full hardness, and it was easy to get into the rhythm of things. Touching himself was familiar. It would have been easier if he pretended Aziraphale wasn’t there, but he didn’t want to. Aziraphale’s gaze set Crowley’s whole body on fire.

It was weird, though, making eye contact with Aziraphale while jerking himself off. Aziraphale was now looking at Crowley like Crowley was his dessert. If Crowley had any brain power left, it had certainly evaporated by now.

It startled Crowley when Aziraphale spoke. “You were thinking about me.”

“I was,” Crowley confessed.

“Fantasizing about me?”

Crowley shuddered. “Yeah.”

“About what?”

“Kissing you.” Crowley felt kind of foolish, now, getting so worked up over such a small thing.

It wasn’t a small thing, though. If it was, they might have done it already.

Aziraphale’s eyes were wider than usual. “Do you mean…?”

“Just on the lips, angel.” Crowley bit down on his free hand, stifling a groan. “I’m gonna get on with it. Alright?”

“Alright,” Aziraphale echoed. He watched on, eager.

The touch of Crowley’s lips on his own sensitive flesh was electric. Crowley had done this a million times before, but with Aziraphale here, it felt like the first. He looked into Aziraphale’s eyes as he sunk down onto his cock, hips stuttering into the slick warmth of his mouth.

Crowley brought one hand between his legs to massage his testicles, and he dug the fingernails of the other into his thigh until pleasure turned into pain. He kept from looking at Aziraphale too much— _too much, too lewd, too fast_ —but he knew still that Aziraphale hadn’t taken his eyes off him, had barely even blinked. Aziraphale didn’t have to breathe, but he often forgot and did anyway, and Crowley could hear Aziraphale’s shallow breaths fill the room along with the slick, obscene sounds of Crowley sucking himself off.

Crowley didn’t have to breathe either, which meant that he could keep his cock down his throat for as long as he wanted, and he did.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whimpered.

“Mmmph,” Crowley responded.

He looked up again, meaning for Aziraphale’s face, but his eyes landed instead in Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale was hard. His cock strained, unmistakable, against his slacks, and Crowley nearly passed out. His angel, aroused. Crowley would have given anything to bury his face in Aziraphale’s lap. He wanted to run his tongue along the outline of Aziraphale’s erection through his slacks, to make Aziraphale beg for more and to follow through because Crowley would never deny Aziraphale anything. He wanted to close his lips around Aziraphale’s cock and show Aziraphale a wholly new side of his beloved human pleasures. He wanted to do things to Aziraphale that Aziraphale had only read about in books, and that Crowley had never even heard of.

Crowley made a stifled attempt at moaning Aziraphale’s name, and watched Aziraphale’s wide-eyed fascination as his cock twitched violently between his lips and he came, tasting it on his tongue.

Breathless, Crowley unfurled his spine and fell back onto the bed. “Angel,” he groaned. “If you don’t kiss me, I’ll die.”

Crowley didn’t think Aziraphale would, and he startled when the bed dipped down beside him, and Aziraphale sat on the edge. He looked at Crowley with shining eyes and simply said Crowley’s name, a plea.

Crowley sat up, hard work on his spent limbs, and in an instant Aziraphale’s hands were in his hair, and Aziraphale’s lips were on his.

“Unnh,” Crowley whimpered.

It would have been heaven, if heaven was actually any good. A few seconds passed before Crowley remembered to kiss Aziraphale back, and his brain scrambled to recall how. By the time Aziraphale pulled away and pressed his forehead into Crowley’s, Crowley felt lightheaded. His heart didn’t have to beat, but it did anyway, and it pounded uncomfortably in his rib cage.

Aziraphale’s hands dropped from Crowley’s hair and rested on his shoulders, bare skin on bare skin. Crowley kept his hands tangled in the sheets, afraid to touch. He didn’t want to stain Aziraphale’s clothes. He didn’t want to touch Aziraphale without permission, anyway. Somehow, Crowley couldn’t think of how to ask.

Aziraphale’s lips nearly brushed Crowley’s when he spoke. “How does it feel?”

“Let me show you,” Crowley said. It felt like begging.

Aziraphale sighed. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“Not today,” Aziraphale answered, “but not never.”

“Anytime you want,” Crowley said.

“I know.” Aziraphale hesitated, and then said, “Thank you.”

Crowley didn’t know what the thanks was for—for waiting until Aziraphale was ready, or for the offer itself, or for letting Aziraphale watch—but it felt good to hear, and it felt good to be in Aziraphale’s space, to be vulnerable and close, even if it was probably a one-time thing.

“Do you want to go to dinner?” Crowley asked, eventually.

“I’d love to,” Aziraphale said.

“The Ritz?”

“Perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [tumblr](http://geislieb.tumblr.com)


End file.
